Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

“How's it going?“ Dad asked.

“Great!“ I said. “At least, now that you're here. I need your help!“

“You've got it!“ he replied. “What can I do?“

“Mind the switchboard for a little while.“

His face fell. I could see he was trying to think of an excuse.

“I don't want to ask just anyone,“ I said, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We need to have someone here who'll notice if a suspicious call comes through.“

“What kind of suspicious call?“

“Precisely!“ I exclaimed. “If I could define suspicious, anyone could do it.“

Showing him how to operate the switchboard took a little longer. Strange that most of the vapid young women the temp agency sent over managed to grasp the rudiments of operating the switchboard far faster than a man who had graduated from medical school near the top of his class. But eventually I decided he was ready to solo, and hurried off. I had a feeling his enthusiasm for serving as a human wiretap would fade rather quickly, and I wanted to get as much done as possible in the time I had.

Given all the interruptions we'd already had this week, I didn't want to bother anyone who seemed to be doing actual work. So I headed for the lunchroom. Sure enough, I found half a dozen of the staff hanging out there. Better still, they were already talking about Ted. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and joined the edges of the group.

Unfortunately, my arrival silenced them.

“Don't let me interrupt you,“ I said. “Go back to whatever you were saying.“

They all looked uncomfortable.

“Unless, of course, you were saying uncomplimentary things about me, in which case, you'd better change the subject.“

“Actually, we were saying uncomplimentary things about Ted,“ Frankie volunteered over the nervous laughter. “Kind of a rotten thing to do, I guess.“

“Getting murdered didn't make him a saint overnight,“ I said.

“Tell that to the Caerphilly Clarion,“ the usually silent Luis murmured, gesturing with the front page of the rag in question.

“Yeah, listen to this,“ Frankie said, snagging the paper from Luis:

“He was a gifted programmer,“ said Mutant Wizards spokeswoman Elizabeth Mitchell. “He has made a significant contribution to our upcoming release, Lawyers from Hell II, and I think I speak for the entire staff in saying that his loss will have a profound effect upon all of us.“

“Like maybe we can get some work done without having to dodge water balloons,“ Keisha grumbled.

“And maybe we'll actually get credit for our own work for a change,“ Frankie said. He propped himself against the wall, his height allowing him to achieve a Jack-style lean that was reasonably authentic – until he surrendered to the temptation to tuck one foot behind him like an advanced yoga pose.

“Are those the main things everyone had against him – the practical jokes and hogging credit for other people's work?“ I asked, a little disappointed. It sounded like the Ted I knew, but neither sounded much like a motive for anyone to murder him.

“If it was just hogging the credit, yeah, that was irritating, but we just blew it off,“ Frankie said. “I mean, we figured everyone knew who really did the work, and if Ted wanted to pretend he was some kind of supergenius, let him. He wasn't fooling anyone. At least that's what we thought.“

“Until year-end bonuses came out,“ Keisha put in.

Much head-shaking.

“The amounts everyone got were supposed to be confidential, see,“ Frankie explained. “But in a place like this – word gets around.“

“Yes, I imagine it does,“ I said. “Especially if whoever's supposed to keep the bonus amounts confidential is foolish enough to put them in an unencrypted file on the network.“

Several people looked sheepish.

“Rumor has it Ted got way more than he had a right to get,“ Frankie went on. “And some other people got way less as a result.“

“What other people?“ I asked.

“I think Jack was the most hurt,“ Frankie said.

“The jury selection logic was all Jack's invention,“ Luis put in. “And the cross-examination sequence – in fact, the whole courtroom module would never have gotten done if not for Jack. Everyone knew that.“

“And Ted claimed credit?“ I asked.

“Yeah,“ Frankie said. “Ted was always getting up in meetings and grandstanding about how he'd fixed this and he'd thought up that. Nobody realized anyone believed him.“

“I'm sure Rob didn't realize – ,“ I began.

“Exactly!“ Frankie said. “That was the whole problem. We know Rob thought the accounting people knew what they were doing… but they didn't. They fell for Ted's bull – uh, Ted's blarney. If you get a chance, tell Rob that he needs to keep an eye on them this year. Or better yet, decide on the bonuses himself.“

A chorus of agreement greeted this statement. I nodded, while wondering to myself how Rob managed to lead such a charmed life. I happened to know that Rob had decided on the bonus amounts himself. He'd dithered about them all through the Thanksgiving weekend, trying to decide how much to give for seniority, how much for team spirit, how much for spectacular individual contributions. Accounting may have figured out how much Mutant Wizards could afford to give out and done all the final calculations, but the percentages were Rob's doing. Not that I was going to tell the staff that. Still, was it a motive for murder?

“I'll keep it in mind,“ I said. “People are still pretty resentful eight months later, I see.“

“The closer we get to the initial public offering, the more people are going to resent it,“ put in Rhode Island Rico, the graphic artist. “Bad enough Ted got such a honking big pile of cash to wave around in January… but knowing he could get thousands – maybe millions – more than he deserves when the IPO happens… man! He didn't steal any credit from me, but it still burns me up, how much more he gets than he deserves. I can imagine how ticked off people like Jack are.“

“Yeah, working like they did, only to see a jerk like Ted reap all the benefit,“ Luis said.

I sighed. I wasn't sure I liked the way this was going. Yes, I was looking for suspects other than my brother. Not that I expected to find Ted's murderer myself – I don't share Dad's conviction that solving murders in real life is as easy as it seems in the mystery books he devours by the dozen every week. But I did want to present the chief with a couple of plausible suspects other than Rob. His growing legal team didn't anticipate any difficulty getting Rob acquitted if the DA tried to charge him with Ted's murder, but in the meantime the trail of the real killer would be growing colder and colder.

But I wanted to point the chief to a plausible alternative subject, and I had a hard time believing Jack Ransom fit the bill. And I didn't think it was just because I liked him. He was one of the few genuinely sane people around the office, which made him, in my mind, one of the least likely suspects.

Or was I too influenced by selfish motives – specifically, my investment in Mutant Wizards? Was that coloring my thinking, making me deliberately shy away from steering the police toward a key employee like Jack at this critical time in the development of the new game? At least he seemed to be key, and fairly high ranking. The only organizational chart I'd ever seen was ten months out of date, and Rob had allowed people to choose their own creative job titles, which meant I had no idea how the firm was really organized. Was a Unix Crusader – the disgruntled ex-staffer – more important than Keisha, the Cyber Goddess? Would Frankie, as Programming Warlock, report to Luis, the Senior Software Guru, or vice versa? I had no idea, apart from observing how they treated each other, of course.

When Frankie suggested something, people shrugged. When Luis suggested something, people listened. When Jack suggested something, people scrambled to do it.

But even Frankie appeared to perform a key role, if the number of people who complained when he played hooky was anything to go by. Which led me to another, more useful thought. Now was certainly a bad time to throw any obstacles in the path of the development team. Unless, of course, you wanted to cause Mutant Wizards the kind of problems that would result from a missed deadline on the new game. Was it possible that someone had killed Ted not for any of his many unpleasant characteristics but merely as a way of sabotaging Mutant Wizards? Who would have a motive to do that? Obviously not Rob or any of the other Mutant Wizards staff I knew and liked, since they all, like Rob, had a major stake in the company's success. It would have to be someone who had it in for the company – another strike against Liz's bete noire, the disgruntled ex-staffer? Assuming, of course, that Ted's death would cause obstacles. No way to know without asking.

“So how badly will Ted's death hurt our deadlines, anyway?“ I asked.

Apparently this was the topic du jour. The group erupted into a flurry of incomprehensible technical jargon, until I called time-out.

“In English, please, someone,“ I pleaded.

“Losing Ted won't hurt us all that much if the police would just bring back bis computer so we could get his damned files,“ Jack Ransom said. Having arrived, apparently, in the middle of the argument, he was leaning against the doorjamb, taking everything in. The several people who had been propped against various walls or articles of furniture leaped to attention. I wasn't sure if they wanted to look alert in his presence or just felt too embarrassed to exhibit their inferior leans in the presence of the master.

“From what we saw the last time Ted showed us what he was doing, he'd effectively finished the module he was working on,“ Jack went on.

“Finished it all wrong, though,“ Frankie put in.

“I have no doubt he ignored all the technical standards, as usual,“ Jack said, pushing away from the doorway and heading for the coffee machine. “And, as usual, someone else will have to clean up behind him. Probably you again, Luis; you've got that down to an art.“

“Yeah,“ Luis said, shaking his head. “By now, I know exactly how his mind works – or doesn't work.“

“Good thing whoever bumped him off didn't do it last week,“ Frankie said. “We'd really be hurting then. But now – gee, it sounds cold, but to be perfectly honest, we can do without Ted better than just about anyone, right now.“

With the possible exception, I thought, of Rob. Who knows? Having Rob in jail for a day or two might actually speed up the project. And having Ted permanently absent wouldn't cause a problem – did that make it more likely that the killer was someone closely involved in the project, who would know when it was safe to strike Ted down? Drat.

“Of course, that assumes we can get Ted's files sometime this century,“ Keisha said, tossing her braids in a characteristic gesture of impatience.

“And assumes that some of us actually manage to get some programming done today,“ Jack shot back. The rest of them looked a little guilty, and the impromptu meeting broke up.

“Sorry,“ I said. “I didn't mean to keep anyone from work.“

“You're not,“ he said with a shrug. “No one can concentrate; I think for a lot of these kids, it's the first time they've ever known anyone who died. Anyone close to their own age, anyway. I'm just trying to give them enough time to talk it over among themselves, but not enough to sit around getting morbid.“

“Let me know if I can do anything to help,“ I said.

“If you could get the police to hurry up and give back Ted's files, that would be a lifesaver,“ Jack said.

“The files are really that big a problem?“

“Not yet, but they will be pretty soon.“

“You don't have a backup?“

He rolled his eyes. “If Ted had backed up regularly, or better yet, stored his stuff on the server, the way he was supposed to, we wouldn't have a problem at all,“ he said. “Unfortunately, this was Ted. Hell, half the time we needed something, it wouldn't even be on his desktop machine; it'd be on his laptop, and he'd have left that home for the day. If we get the police to give us a copy of his files within a day or so, Luis can clean them up in time. If not…“

“I'll do what I can,“ I said. “Not that there's all that much I can do, but we have a whole lot of lawyer relatives who've been begging us to let them know if they can do anything. Maybe I'll call their bluff.“

“Great,“ he said. “Well, this thing isn't going to program itself.“

With that, he left the coffee room.

I heard a noise in the hall – a familiar yet oddly chilling sound. The rhythmic beep of the mail cart making its rounds.

I confess I was a little anxious when I stepped out into the hall to see the mail cart. It wasn't the same mail cart Ted had been killed on, of course; the police had that. I'd called the company that supplied and serviced the mail cart, explained the situation, and asked them to bring over another one, ASAP. And while their initial definition of ASAP wasn't at all what I had in mind, they quickly revised it, after I remarked that I hadn't yet had any reason to tell the media what brand of mail cart had been used in the murder. So I'd been expecting to see a mail cart.

Still, it was more than a little odd to hear it for the first time, and to see it chugging down the hall again. I was strangely relieved to see nothing on it but mail. No still form – and for that matter, no attempts at decoration. Thank heaven for small favors.

As I watched it chug by, I noticed that several other people had stepped out of their cubes or offices to do the same thing. It was almost as if we'd declared a minute of silence to coincide with the start of the cart's first run of the day. We all watched until it rounded the corner into the next corridor, and then we looked at each other, sheepishly.

“Ironic, isn't it?“ Rico said, plucking at the hem of yet another RISD T-shirt. “Him getting killed on that thing.“

“I think it's more ironic that he was killed with a mouse cord,“ another graphic artist said. “Just think, maybe if we'd spent the money for wireless mice, Ted might be alive today.“

“No, but look at the irony of it being the mail cart,“ Rico insisted. “It was like he was obsessed with it. Always playing with it.“

“And everyone else around here wasn't?“ I asked.

They shrugged their shoulders, sheepishly. If they'd tried to argue, I would have pointed out how much time the art department had spent over the past week decorating the mail cart.

“Yeah, we all played with it,“ a programmer said. “But Ted was obsessed, definitely. He was the only one trying to re-program it.“

“Reprogram it?“ I echoed.

“Yeah. You know how the thing works, right?“

“It follows a line of ultraviolet dye on the carpet.“

“More like a series of dots, really. It reads the dots, like Morse code. There's patterns that mean turn left, turn right, stop. Ted got a black light, so he could see the dots, and he spent hours trying to make a dye that the machine could read and then something to wash out the dye. Didn't work, of course.“

“Then how did he manage to reroute the machine?“ I asked. “I don't think we had a day last week when the damned thing didn't turn up someplace where it wasn't supposed to be. I was trapped in the women's room for half an hour, remember, when he managed to get the thing stalled outside the door.“

“Just be glad he wasn't successful at opening the door,“ one of them said while the others snickered. “He had a couple of Web cams hooked up to the cart that day, you know.“

“No, I didn't know,“ I said. “And it's a good thing I didn't, or he wouldn't have lived as long as he did. So if he didn't figure out how to make and erase dots, how did he manage to reroute the mail cart?“

“He was moving carpet tiles around,“ Rico said. “You walk around this place and half the carpet tiles are loose. See!“

He walked a few steps, scuffing each tile as he went. The fifth tile he touched moved a few inches out of position when he kicked it.

“He was gluing them back down,“ a programmer said. “I saw him.“

“Yeah, but whatever he was using didn't do the job like the commercial adhesive the carpet installers use,“ Rico said. “Another week and you wouldn't have been able to walk around here for loose tiles.“

Was this useful? I didn't see offhand how Ted's high jinks with the mail cart got me any closer to finding his killer. Still, you never knew.

Now that the cart had disappeared, everyone began drifting back to their cubes and offices. All except Roger the Stalker, who, as usual, had been lurking silently at the edge of the group. I forced a smile. He might be a creep, but who knows, I thought. Even Roger could have some useful information.

“What's new, Roger?“ I said.

He bunked and glanced back, as if he thought there might be some other Roger in the hallway.

“We're having pizza,“ he said finally. “Luigi's. Seven-thirty.“

“That's nice,“ I said.

He nodded and drifted back into Cubeville.

Apparently the guys were planning a little outing and had forgotten to tell me. Or maybe hadn't intended to invite me – perhaps they thought I'd force-feed them more vegetables. In any case, this could be useful. Gathering information would be much easier when no one expected them to hurry back to work. And when they were full of pizza and beer.

See, I told myself. Even creepy Roger can serve a useful purpose, now and then.

Two useful purposes, in fact; seeing him reminded me that I still needed to feed George.

I was heading back to the lunchroom when I ran into Liz.